She went on tremulously. "I've always felt—that a woman ought to be able to manage alone. It's very kind of you to want to marry me. But—but I—I think I'm getting too old."
"Is that the only obstacle?" asked Hill.
She tried to laugh, but it ended in a sound of tears. She turned her face quickly aside. "I can't tell you—of any other," she said, with difficulty, "except—except—"
"Except that you don't like me much?" he suggested dryly. "Well, that doesn't surprise me."
"Oh, I didn't say that!" She choked back her tears and turned back to him. "Let's walk a little way together, shall we? I—I'll try and explain—just how I feel about things."
He moved at once to comply. They walked side by side over the close-cropped grass. Dot would have slipped her hand free, but still he kept it.
They had traversed some yards before she spoke again, and then her voice was low and studiously even.
"I can't pretend to you that there has never been anyone else. It wouldn't be right. You probably wouldn't believe me if I did."
"Oh, I gathered that a long time ago," Hill said.
"Yes, of course you did. You always see everything, don't you? It's your specialty."